Wednesday, July 24, 2013

I’m
writing this because I didn’t talk to her. There have been many versions of her
before, but she stood out because it would have been so easy. Ideal and easy. I was running in the park when I saw her walking down the path, her back to
me. As I approached, I liked her more and more. I passed her and the brief
glimpse out of the side of my eye was stunning. Pretty face, dark hair with
streaks of red, slim yet curvy. I had to see her again. I finished one lap then
turned around. I felt a bit creepy but I had to know everything I visually
could. I saw her again. Again, stunning. A full view from the front and I was
struck, my mind paralyzed. She looked European. She looked unhappy. I like both
of those looks, the latter because I’m good at creating smiles, especially on
girls who should do nothing but. I think she looked at me. Was it because she
enjoyed my person or did she feel two brown eyes all over her like a cold
blanket near a fireplace? She continued along the circle and I did the same,
desperately wondering why ‘Hello’ wasn’t forming in my mouth. It was the
perfect situation- we were both alone, neither of us listening to music, the park
was fairly uncrowded due to the rain. I like to run in rain and she didn’t seem
to mind walking in it. The gift of an opening line and an instant bond. I
passed her several times and decided I had to act. What was the worst that
reasonably could have happened? She’s married or otherwise involved. She just
wanted to walk alone with her thoughts. Even if she told me to piss off, I’d be
content knowing that I tried.

Passing
her four more times, I said nothing. The rain was coming down harder so I
decided to test her. I’d keep going and if she did as well, I wouldn’t let
myself not talk to her. She was holding a phone. I assumed she wouldn’t want it
getting wet so she’d go right to her car, not again to be seen by me when I turned down the
other side of the path. I was playing a game for no reason and betting on myself
to lose. And I was right. All of this instead of, ‘Hello. May I walk with you?’
Maybe she really was unhappy and wanted someone to cheer her up. Maybe she was European and we could have spoken
German together. Maybe I’d be treating her to dinner right now instead of
writing this. All of these maybes but only one reality- I didn’t act. Why? Is
making up excuses more thrilling than communicating? Am I afraid of rejection?
Am I more afraid of acceptance? Does a part of me enjoy regret?

This
is nothing new. I can count the number of times I’ve spoken to a previously-unknown
girl I thought was attractive on one finger. I’m 31 and I’ve done this once, nine
months ago. I went to a bar before going to a concert alone. I sat at the end
of the bar and the guy sitting next to me left shortly after. A cute, awkward
girl with glasses took the seat after asking if it was taken. And that was just
it- she had broken the proverbial ice. We didn’t say anything more, but the
pressure of initiation was gone. When her vodka and cranberry juice arrived, I
asked if she knew the proper name for the drink. She did, and the conversation
commenced. We exchanged phone numbers before she left and went out once. That
night of the concert, I felt great. I talked to a random girl and got her
number for the first time ever. But the catch was that she had opened the door,
if inadvertently.

Imagine
this scenario, which has happened countless times: I’m at a bar. I notice a
girl and think she’s lovely. I want to talk to her but know that I will not.
Why? I always have an excuse. Oh, she’s here with another girl and they just
want to talk. That’s why they came out to the bar. They don’t want some guy
interrupting that and I don’t want to be that guy. Or I’ll think she’s only
going to have one drink and then leave. I base that, of course, on nothing. But
it makes it easier to not talk to her. What happens often enough is the girl’s
boyfriend will show up and all of my doubts somehow get justified.

I
don’t understand any of this, but this is what it’s like to be me. Once some
kind of introduction or initiation takes place, I can talk on-and-on about
anything. But the trick for me is getting to that point without common ground.
I’ve done internet dating, which eliminates that pressure. At this point, I’m
convinced that I physically cannot approach a girl and talk to her without an
obvious reason or commonality.

Back
to the park, but eleven days ago and with a different girl. This one, too, was
stunning. Red hair with just enough brown to convince me it was natural, pale
skin, slender. She was walking with a man who had to be at least eighty. Her
grandfather, I assumed. I wanted to talk to her but didn’t want to be the
interrupting guy, regardless of their relationship. I thought about approaching
the old man and pretending I was writing a story on war veterans. How this
would have gotten me a date with the beautiful young lady, I don’t quite know.
Instead of trying anything, I went home and wrote a story based on the
situation as if I had played the war reporter role. Then I decided to
hand-write a letter to her and return to the park at the same time the
following Saturday to give it to her. Again, I felt a bit creepy, but what else
could I have done? If she was at the park the next week, I didn’t see her.
Frustrated, I burned the letter when I got home. Does anyone else do things
like this? Do you play head-games with yourself instead of inviting potential happiness? How can break away from this awkward nonsense? You might be thinking I’m too old to be
acting like this. You’d be right, but I don't think I’m not too old for anything.

Unfortunately,
this brief journey seeking self-enlightenment has only led to more questions…

Friday, July 05, 2013

I’ve
had a burning hatred for this song since I first heard it. Not only is it
dangerous insecurity hidden behind a catchy chorus, but it glorifies
unjustified violence and sets its own double standard. Imagine a man singing
this about his potentially cheating girlfriend. There would’ve been chaos and
uproar and all sorts of tommygoggling. But because this “pretty” little thing
named Carrie sings it with a smile, it’s fine. Well it’s not fine on this blog.
Words that come to mind are harmful, hazardous, inappropriate, and just plain
wrong.

Here
are the lyrics. Read them carefully, then proceed to see how I completely rip
them apart…

Right
now, he's probably dabbing on 3 dollars worth of that bathroom Polo

Oh,
and he don't know

I
might've saved a little trouble for the next girl

'cause
the next time that he cheats

Oh,
you know it won't be on me

No,
not on me”

Let
the dissection begin, line by line- verses first, followed by the chorus:

First
of all, Miss Underwood, you throw around this ‘probably’ word quite often and
loosely. Is this fellow actually cheating on you or are you just completely
insecure, suspicious, jealous, and all of those other fine words? There doesn’t
appear to be any basis for your accusations.

You
comment on this hypothetical woman’s bleach-blonde hair. Is it very different
from your hair color on the very cover of this song’s single? (See above.)
Might this be a degree of what psychologists refer to as projection?

By
the next line, are you implying that you shoot whiskey and are comparatively
inexpendable because of it? Some people don’t like it and prefer fruity drinks.
Whiskey and I are good friends, but I would never criticize someone for not
drinking it. (I may have done this, but in this forum let’s assume I’ve not.)
What a load of passive-aggressive arrogant-for-no-reason rubbish.

So
this guy is teaching this hypothetical girl how to be better at pool. Wow, he really
might be a jerk. You’ve got me starting to rethink this whole thing.

It’s
‘he doesn’t know,’ not ‘he don’t know.’ Go back to second grade.

I
typed into Google, ‘What is a white-trash version of Shania karaoke?’ and found
out that I am not alone with this inquiry. I also found out that there’s no
such thing and the line makes no sense. This is likely nothing more than a poor
attempt to get into the good graces of a more moderately talented artist.

At
a bar, hopefully when not driving, one tends to get drunk. This person may
announce it. And if this person is a lady who’s been flirting with a guy all
night, it’s fairly reasonable for him to think he’s going to ‘get lucky.’ I must
remind you that this is all, of course, hypothetical.

This
situation is taking place in quite the interesting bar- slow dancing, pool,
karaoke, and Ralph Lauren cologne available in the bathroom. Where is this,
exactly?

And,
again, he *doesn’t* know.

Now,
the chorus tells me that you, Carrie, followed your guy to a bar and sat
outside imagining this entire scenario. To clarify, everything listed above was
hypothetical. This is what you actually did…

Your
first thought after guessing this guy was cheating on you was to key his car? It
sounds like his car is important to him and he’d spent a lot of money on it. Hey,
here’s a thought- go into the bar to see if he really is doing those things
with another woman and if so, confront him about it. Immediately resorting to
vandalism seems like a gross overreaction based on some severe mental issues
you have.

Then
you carved your name into his car seats, which added illegal entry (possibly
breaking and entering) to your rap sheet. You had no right to be in his car, which
would be the only way for you to get at his seats, even if the window was left
open. Also, I’m sure he’d have no doubt anyway, but using your own name pretty
much solidifies a conviction.

This
guy possibly cheated on you. Even if he did, that’s no reason to deprive the
ability to see the road at night. How would he safely get home without
headlights? Cheating does not justify endangering his life. Also, do you always
bring a baseball bat to a bar?

I’m
sure you destroyed his car’s tires, but you can’t exactly slash a hole. This defies
some law of Physics.

Do
you know what he’ll think before he cheats? ‘Wow, the last time I did this that
maniac I was dating destroyed my car. I’m glad she’s in prison and I was able
to get an even nicer car with the settlement, but I kind of feel bad that she
was such a messy ball of feminine lunacy.’

That’s
right, you’re going to jail. To top that, your actions will all be public
record, so I doubt any guy will ever date you again. “But I thought he was
cheating on me” will not hold up in court or in life. Was it worth it?

Why
am I asking you all of these questions? I should address them to the men who wrote
this dreadful song. Maybe I’ll do that, but will first listen to Eminem’s song ‘Kim,’
which presents a healthy, reasonable way to end a relationship…